


Some Sad Singers (They Just Play Tragic)

by skyline



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Barebacking, Big Time Single, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, wheelbarrows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:38:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kendall manages to extricate himself from James’s hold. He clambers out of the wheelbarrow, but he can’t quite escape the way that James nuzzles up against Kendall’s leg. “You asked what would make me feel better?” Kendall nods, trying to focus on the pretty blue plastic and not the way James’s face is pressed into the seam of his jeans. All Kendall can see are James’s eyes when he says, “I’ll feel better if you let me fuck you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Sad Singers (They Just Play Tragic)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lizzehboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzehboo/gifts).



> Almost immediately after BTSingle aired, goten0040 tweeted me, "Um. I want you to write something based off the ep. Pronto. #YouHavePlentyOfOpportunities" And so I wrote things. Pronto.

Kendall stares down at his hands, clutched tight around two wooden handles.  
  
He’s thinking that he wants to push his wheelbarrow into traffic. He needs to convince himself that, while fun, murder is not the way to handle this situation.  
  
James is moaning and groaning about how his perfect dating record has been irreparably damaged and oh god, the _humiliation_ he’ll suffer if people _find out_. He’s saying that the Jennifers arranged this _on purpose_ , that it was a trick, and that they are obviously sexbots from the future hell-bent on ruining everything James has worked towards his entire life. Whenever Kendall tries to object to this flawed line of reasoning, James argues that Kendall, apparently, is unable to understand the deviousness of womankind, and is fortunate that he does not know true heartbreak.  
  
…Kendall is trying really hard not to shove James in front of a speeding Hummer limo.  
  
It’s not fair. He’s the one who had his most important internal organ smushed into nothingness. He’s the one who’s been walking around for weeks now, feeling like he can’t get enough oxygen in his chest. And just like always, James has to make a play for the spotlight.  
  
Every.  
  
Single.  
  
Time.  
  
Why he even wants to be all crippled with emotion is beyond Kendall. Like most things that go on in James’s head, actually. The boy’s got a fantastically good game face for someone who wears his heart on his sleeve.  
  
“I’ll fix it, James,” Kendall tells him, trying to get James to shut up about his terminator-esque conspiracy. The Jennifers aren’t sexbots. They swim in the Palmwoods pool all the time without rusting. Also, they spend way too much time shopping for accessories to conspire about anything. Seeing through the bullshit; it’s why people let Kendall be in charge.  
  
“Nnngh,” is James’s response to that.  
  
“I’ll fix it,” Kendall says again, sounding a whole lot more patient than he feels.  
  
“You promise?” James looks up at him, all dark, sad puppy dog eyes and melodrama.  
  
“Of course I promise,” Kendall shoves a fond hand through James’s hair, ignoring his yelp of protest. Kendall’s been taking care of James’s problems since kindergarten. Even if it’s annoying, it’s familiar and comforting to have something other than Jo to focus on.  
  
Jo. Kendall sighs. He misses her so much. His knees start going weak, but before he can topple into the wheelbarrow, James begins making an obnoxiously loud, pained noise meant to express the trials and tribulations of being dumped after half an hour of hand holding.  
  
“Kendall it hurts so _bad_ ,” James whines.  
  
Which brings Kendall back to the part where he wants to push him in front of the busy street lining the Palmwoods. Instead, like the good and loyal friend he prides himself on being, Kendall pushes James poolside, where the Jennifers seem to be discussing which Hollywood vampire would be better in bed.  
  
“Which one did you date?” Kendall asks, poking James in the shoulder. Despite his vast, harrowing pain, he seems to enjoy being chauffeured around in a wheelbarrow. He’s sprawled out like he expects someone to start fanning him with a palm frond and popping grapes into his mouth.  
  
“Her.” James points smack dab in the middle of the group, and _oh no_. “Why did you have to choose the blonde one? She’s like, the head bitch in charge of the Jennifers.”  
  
“I like blonds.”  
  
James manages a pretty bright grin for the first time in an hour, reaching up and tugging at a piece of Kendall’s hair. Kendall swats his hand away. He turns to the Jennifers. “Hey, guys.”  
  
“No,” the blonde Jennifer says immediately.  
  
“I didn’t even finish what I was going to say.”  
  
“You were going to ask if James can date me again so he’ll stop looking so pathetic. The answer is no.”  
  
“Well.” Kendall looks down at James. “That didn’t work. Do you want a smoothie?”  
  
James pouts. “Kendall! You promised.”  
  
“I’ll get you a pink one.”  
  
“Pink is not a flavor.”  
  
“It’s the most delicious flavor,” Kendall corrects.  
  
“I want to dump Jennifer!”  
  
“Not happening,” Jennifer singsongs.  
  
Kendall rolls his eyes, hauling up the wheelbarrow. “I’ll think of a way for you to date and dump Jennifer while we drink smoothies. Delicious pink smoothies.”  
  
“I want blue.”  
  
“Fine. You know, for someone whose heart is broken, you don’t seem very _heartbroken_.”  
  
James immediately summons up a solemn expression and says, “Nnghargh.”  
  
“That’s better.”  
  
So. Smoothies don’t actually help. Mostly, they just make Kendall think of all the times that he drank smoothies with Jo, which makes his heart feel all achy-breaky and his eyes prick uncomfortably. New Zealand is like, a million miles away.  
  
“Kendall, look at that girl! She’s so pretty,” James whispers in an exaggeratedly thin voice. “If I still had my perfect date record, I would ask her out. But alas, I have been ruined. My flawless dating streak has been deflowered-“  
  
“I don’t think that’s the right word, James.”  
  
“ _Deflowered_ ,” James continues, glaring at him. “-And the Jenni-sexbots continue to grow strong on my swaggertastic powers.”  
  
Kendall blinks. He takes a long pull on his smoothie and then blinks again.  
  
“You have a really high opinion of yourself,” he says, which is the kindest of the thoughts that just flickered through his head.  
  
“Why shouldn’t I?” James slurps his smoothie, and through a mouthful of blue he mumbles, “M’awesome.” He swallows. “Or I was before the Jennifers tried to suck out my soul. They’re succubi!”  
  
“What?” First sexbots, and now succubi. Kendall is going to ban him from watching any more late night Syfy with Logan.  
  
“You heard them. They were talking about vampires. That means they’re succubi. Kendall, they want to drink all the blood from my body,” James exclaims, and he is suddenly not in the wheelbarrow anymore.  
  
He’s on Kendall’s lap.  
  
“Save me.”  
  
“James.” Kendall stands up, holding James aloft for a whole two seconds before dropping him unceremoniously back into the wheelbarrow. James lands with an _oof_ and a familiar dagger-filled look that means he wants to punch Kendall in the jaw. “No one’s going to suck your blood.”  
  
“Oh.” James actually has the nerve to look slightly disappointed about it.  
  
Then he proceeds to cry mantears about how Kendall made him drop his smoothie. Indeed, there is a bright stain of berry-blue all over the sidewalk. Grudgingly, Kendall pulls out his wallet.  
  
Five minutes later, James is sucking happily on his new blue smoothie and Kendall is wheeling him down the hallway, trying to figure out how to snare a Jennifer. What did Jennifers even like?  
  
Accessorizing.  
  
Vampires.  
  
Dancing.  
  
None of which was going to be any help at getting Blondie to date James again, unless she was a sucker for a well accessorized dancing vampire. Which would work if they had the few spare hours they needed to put that plan together.  
  
They didn’t.  
  
“Look, is anything going to cheer you up that _doesn’t_ involve dating Jennifer?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Are you sure? I could buy you one of those miniature tranquility gardens. It’ll have a fountain.”  
  
“A fountain? You think _a fountain_ is going to make up for the destruction of my life’s work?”  
  
Kendall grinds his teeth together. “You thought a puppet show was going to work on me.”  
  
“You like puppets!”  
  
“You like fountains!”  
  
“I like _pie_ better! You should know that!”  
  
“Well you should know that there are tons of things I like better than _puppet shows_ ,” Kendall yells, and it feels good.  
  
Looking put out, James growls, “Logan chose the puppet show, alright? Geez. _I_ wanted to take you to Disneyland.”  
  
Kendall crosses his arms. He will not cave. He will not cave. He will not- shoot. “I like Disneyland.”  
  
“Duh, I know. No one ever listens to me. I’m sorry that the puppet show was dumb, but- dude, none of us like seeing you all miserable and broken up about Jo.” _  
  
Jo_. Kendall feels her name like a slice in his heart. He loses his footing, but instead of slumping to the ground, Kendall feels strong arms pulling him down. Into the stupid fucking wheelbarrow. James has got his arms wrapped around Kendall’s waist, and he’s snuggling his chin into his clavicle like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.  
  
“What are you doing?” Kendall squawks, trying to escape from James’s iron grip.  
  
“I wasn’t getting up to scrape you off the ground again. This thing’s pretty comfy,” James explains contentedly.  
  
James’s lap is also pretty comfy, although Kendall will never say anything of the sort out loud. It’s alright for a few seconds, when he’s just sitting there, piled on top of his best friend in a puddle of comfort and lawn tools. But James is James, and he can’t let a moment pass without doing something dumb. His big warm hands start toying with the hem of Kendall’s shirt, which is drafty, but okay. Then he starts smoothing those hands along Kendall’s belly, and upwards, towards his sternum, fingers pinching playfully at Kendall’s nipples.  
  
That’s not so okay.  
  
“James, stop it!” Kendall squirms like an eel to escape his best friend’s grip. “We don’t have time for you to screw around.”  
  
“There’s always time,” James says, nipping at Kendall’s earlobe, tongue wet and hot as it traces along the shell of his ear. Kendall groans, trying to struggle to his feet.  
  
Another thing he’ll never admit out loud: James is such a tease, sometimes.  
  
Kendall manages to extricate himself from James’s hold. He clambers out of the wheelbarrow, but he can’t quite escape the way that James nuzzles up against Kendall’s leg. “You asked what would make me feel better?”  
  
Kendall nods, trying to focus on the pretty blue plastic and not the way James’s face is pressed into the seam of his jeans. All Kendall can see are James’s eyes when he says, “I’ll feel better if you let me fuck you.”  
  
“W-what?” Kendall stammers. It’s a weird sound- Kendall hasn’t stammered since eighth grade, when the girl he liked shot him down in front of their entire class. James was the one who wrapped an arm around Kendall afterwards, all sweet and earnest, and told him that if he ever needed a pity-screw, he was the man for the job.    
  
Seriously. There is no greater cocktease on this earth.  
  
James lets go, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head with easy grace. “Devastating Jennifer or penetrating you. I’d be happy with either.”  
  
Kendall has a quick flash of James, bending him over the side of the wheelbarrow and pounding into him, fast and hard and completely obscene. He has to bite back a gasp. Flustered, he says, “Quit kidding around. Look, we’ll just try _honesty_. The Jennifers have to have some humanity. Somewhere inside their hearts. Deep, deep down.”  
  
He bites his lip.  
  
James yawns from the wheelbarrow. Halfway through the motion, he seems to realize that he’s supposed to be acting unhappy, so he sort of turns the yawn into a cat-like yowl. “If you’d just let us in, this wouldn’t have happened.”  
  
“Stop being a baby.”  
  
“Fix my dating drama, like you _promised_.” James kicks the edge of the wheelbarrow like he’s urging on a horse. “Let’s go.”  
  
“Damnit, James. My girlfriend broke up with _me_. I shouldn’t have to be carting you around to fix your stupid problems.”  
  
James sniffles. Kendall groans and hauls up the wheelbarrow. He wheels out to the Jennifer and launches into an explanation, “-it’s actually kind of funny when you think about it. Just go back out with James so he can dump you this time.”  
  
“Forget it,” the girls chorus like the she-demons they are. They even do this creepy in sync head tilt that reminds Kendall of insects. Maybe preying mantises. Lady mantises eat heads, right?  
  
He pleads, “Guys, come on, he’s a total wreck.”  
  
“This was not the plan!” James wails, clinging onto the side of the wheelbarrow like he hadn’t propositioned Kendall five minutes ago. His nipples still tingly, damnit. Are nipples even supposed to do that? Kendall forces himself not to rub his chest.  
  
“Your plan was stupid,” Jennifer says.  
  
“You’re stupid,” is James’s very mature response. Kendall’s pretty sure he learned that one in first grade.  
  
It all escalates from there, and Kendall has to deliver a compelling speech about turning on the James Diamond charm. He’s nice and proud of his speech, actually, until he finds himself standing outside the wardrobe closet at Rocque Records for nearly half an hour. By the time James starts yelling at the top of his lungs, all peppy and not-miserable sounding at all, Kendall’s worked himself into a pretty good Jo-related funk.  
  
“Kendall, I need help with my cummerbund!”  
  
Kendall pulls himself off the floor, which has somehow gotten remarkably close to his face. He zombie-walks towards the closet, convinced that he’s going to be sad and alone for the rest of his life.  
  
He catches sight of James standing in front of wardrobe’s many full length mirrors. The horrible, awful thoughts flee his mind.  
  
“You look-“ Kendall’s voice catches in his throat. “You look really good.”  
  
“Good enough to charm a Jennifer?”  
  
“Definitely,” Kendall breathes. And he’s reasonably certain that James knows it, because he’s already jacketed up and all cummerbund-ed in. Of course, in the height of his misery, he wanted to _show off_.  
  
James’s lips quirk. He reaches out, hooking a finger through Kendall’s belt loop and pulling him forward. Kendall’s feet obey before he can even process what was happening.  
  
“Good enough to charm you?” James exhales hot in his ear. Kendall isn’t big on the blushing, but he is pretty sure that his face is turning a mortified beet red.  
  
“James-“ he begins, but James’s attention is occupied, as is his mouth. It’s pressing soft kisses against Kendall’s throat, moving up and peppering them light along his jaw. And then James stops, his mouth resting somewhere between Kendall’s chin and his lips. It’s this weird limbo moment, where Kendall knows he’s being given _options_.  
  
Kendall’s always been good with making decisions.  
  
He tilts his head just right, pressing his lips firm to James’s, and then it all kind of spirals. The next thing he knows James’s hand are fisted in his shirt, and he’s pulling it up and over Kendall’s head while Kendall’s busy untucking James’s dress shirt from the cummerbund. His hands are straying across James’s stomach, which is like fucking sculpted stone; if stone could ever be living, breathing, and fever hot. He can’t focus on whether he should be touching or unbuttoning, so he ends up doing both, struggling one handed with the buttons to James’s shirt from the bottom up, his other hand running across the expanse of his skin.  
  
It’s a helpless endeavor, because James has one hand clamped around his shoulders, pressing Kendall’s body into his and his other hand is working quick on the front of Kendall’s jeans and _fuck_. He tries to shove the tux jacket down James’s shoulders, taking the shirt with it, but all Kendall succeeds in doing is getting it all stuck at the elbows. James shrugs out of the jacket, but he doesn’t really gets to the shirt before he’s back kissing Kendall and fumbling his cock out of his boxers and all while billowy shirted and suited up like the hero on a romance novel. Which is great, good, fine for all Kendall cares as long as James keeps touching his dick.  
  
“Been waiting so long for this,” James mumbles, the words half-branded on Kendall’s skin, on his lips, “Been waiting so long to fuck you.”  
  
And those words are ridiculously hot, way more than they should be given that they’re in what is essentially a giant closet, but Kendall doesn’t care. He vigorously nods his agreement; thrusting up into James’s hand, kissing his mouth bruise-red, trying to get closer than he’s wanted to get to anyone since Jo left. And for the first time in ages thinking about her doesn’t make Kendall even a little bit sad, because he’s more focused on the way that James is hoisting him up so that he’s got one leg wrapped around his waist and the other kind of hanging free, but that’s okay, because James is tugging his jeans the rest of the way down so that the curve of his ass is exposed to the recycled studio air. His fingertips play light over Kendall’s asshole, and James sort of slumps back into the wheelbarrow, letting Kendall topple forward on top of him. He’s still fingering the skin of Kendall’s ass, and Kendall shivers into it, relishing the experimental dips of James’s fingertips and the way each one sends a thrill straight to his cock. James’s fingers are wet, and Kendall doesn’t know how or when they got that way, but it would be kind of like James Diamond to carry a pocket size bottle of lube wherever he goes and do they even make those? And does it even matter? Kendall shudders when James’s index finger creeps inside of him, up to the first ridge of knuckle and then pulls out.  
  
He starts messing with the front of James’s tux-slacks, not really capable of getting them fully open with the current ongoing assault on his senses, but he does have enough brainpower to get the zipper down and pull James out, hard as fuck and half slicked with his own pre-cum. Kendall slides an experimental hand down the shaft, cataloguing all the ways James differs from him in size and shape and color for later, when he needs to relive this moment in the still of the night with his hand down his own pants. He runs his thumb around the head of his prick, watching the color change from flush pink to an angry red as he presses down. He twists his wrist, circling back down again and again until James doesn’t really seem to have any compulsions left about working one long, lovely finger inside of Kendall, moving it and crooking it until he hits something that feels not quite like heaven, but like it could be very, very close. Kendall’s hips are jerking back involuntarily, and James inserts another finger, slips it in so quick and easy that Kendall barely notices it’s there until he’s got two fingertips hot against his prostate and yeah, okay; he’s that much closer to losing control.  
  
Being touched is electric, but it’s this ache, too, this ache of not enough, and Kendall wants to be stretched wider, wants all the empty spaces inside of him to disappear. He grinds back on James’s fingers and pants, “More,” and he’s going to be humiliated by the words later, but he still begs, “Please, more.”  
  
James shifts his body down, and the wheelbarrow is not the steadiest hand propelled vehicle known to man; it quivers with their weight, with the unsteady motion of their bodies as James tries to line of his dick with Kendall’s ass, but it stays upright, which is all Kendall really needs. He’s straddling James’s thighs, kind of, and he’s got James pressed hot and pulsing against him and he feels raw, he needs, he needs, he needs- James’s hands press down, one on his shoulder and one bruising on his hip. Kendall obediently bucks down, trying to take in more than he’s ready to handle, but the hurt is almost worth it when James hisses, “ _Kendall_ ,” like it’s the filthiest swear word.  
  
James’s grip on his hipbone tightens, and Kendall can feel the place where his thumb will leave a mark, can feel it as James guides him down slow, and then helps him to ride up. The pace they create between them isn’t much; barely more than small stuttering movements where Kendall uses his knees and his thighs to rise up a few inches and then James uses his hands to force him back down, but it’s good and it’s visceral, and it gets faster when James starts fucking up like he can’t help it. The sound of being fucked is kind of wet, kind of dry; a squelch and a rasp and a slide and the low murmur of James urging him on. Kendall can’t look anywhere but James eyes, and this is new; he’s so used to grabbing a girl’s bird shoulders and holding on like he can’t let go, but this time its James who’s holding tight. He’s got both hands on Kendall, steady like an anchor, and they’re the only thing that makes Kendall feel like he won’t float off into the stratosphere as white builds behind his eyes.  
  
“James,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like anything he’s ever said before; it’s more like a whimper, like something desperate and pleased and it makes James thrust up hard every time that Kendall rocks down, turning the moment almost brutal. The wheelbarrow shifts and rolls forward and James is groaning loud and open and staring up at Kendall like he’s a fucking sex god and Kendall tries to keep from losing it, but the edges of his orgasm slip from his grasp, and he’s coming, hard and fast across James’s fantastic abs. He’s still shuddering through it, still trying to regain the train of thought he’d had before walking into the stupid wardrobe when James tips over the edge, and Kendall thinks that it’s the weirdest thing; watching James lose control, feeling the flutter-pulse of his cum inside of him.  
  
Kendall rests his head against James’s chest, ignoring the sticky smear of his own semen pressing uncomfortably against his stomach. He’s sore all over, but he’s mostly happier than he’s been in weeks. Their clothes are a tangle half in and half out of the wheelbarrow and Kendall has definitely made a mess of the tux.  
  
James is going to want to keep the thing buttoned. For now, Kendall plays with the edges of the now-rumpled shirt and murmurs, “That was unexpected.”  
  
“Really? Was it?” James laughs weakly, “I’ve been hitting on you since, um, forever.”  
  
“Yeah, but not seriously.”  
  
“Yeah _seriously_ ,” James mimics his intonation, “And it really pissed me off that I couldn’t cheer you up.”  
  
The thought of Jo flickers in and out of Kendall’s mind like a flame. It’s too distant and dim to hurt right now. “Sorry for being mopey.”  
  
“Don’t apologize.”  
  
“I’ve been horrible the past few-“ Kendall can’t finish his sentence, because James has smashed a finger to his lips. He’s still trembling with the aftershocks, Kendall notices, pleased.  
  
“Don’t you feel better, now?”  
  
Kendall doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”  
  
“So do I.” James grins from the wheelbarrow, all half-naked and sweaty. “Except.”  
  
“Except what?” Kendall groans, trying to figure out where his boxers have gone.  
  
“Jennifer still ruined my perfect record,” the last bit pitches up to a whine.  
  
Kendall stops his search and crosses his arms. “James. Didn’t I say I’d fix it?”  
  
James lifts an eyebrow. “I thought this was fixing it.”  
  
“No, hey, I promised. You’re going to date and dump a Jennifer.”  
  
“Okay,” James laughs, soft and affectionate. He presses a kiss to the sweat-damp hollow of Kendall’s throat and says, “But first, can we do that again?”


End file.
